


Budding Flowers

by CrowleysRat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst??, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, TW: Violence, ex-angel castiel, not too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:00:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24052498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowleysRat/pseuds/CrowleysRat
Summary: He rests his head on the cool countertop and forces himself to inhale. Exhale. Inhale. He lets out a bitter laugh. He's running out of time and he's nowhere closer to an answer.Or, in which Dean gets hanahaki and angst ensues.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/OMC
Comments: 9
Kudos: 130





	Budding Flowers

The little flower petals sits innocently on the kitchen table, the bright red color a sharp contrast to the dark wood. 

A flower petal. Soft and red. Innocent. But it's not really innocent, is it? No, because this flower petal came from _Dean_.

He stares at it for a second before shaking his head in denial. No.

This cannot be happening to him - after everything, after _all_ of it, why him? It had just been a little cough - _this_ wasn't supposed to have come out of him. 

"Dean?" Cas's voice calls out from down the hall and Dean's throat aches again. He wants to call out, to answer but there's a lump in his throat that scares him shitless. 

A part of him is torn between laughing and crying. Of course it would be him, he's Dean friggin Winchester, _nothing good_ ever came of that. 

"Dean!" comes the exasperated voice of the man he's decided to fall helplessly in love with. He swipes the petal, shoving it into his pocket. He'll have his chick flick moment at another time. In the distant future, preferably. 

"Hey," he answers as Cas appears in the doorway, the little flower petal burning a hole in his pocket. 

\-----

The petals keep coming at irregular intervals. Sometimes during the day, sometimes at night.

They're all types of flowers - big and small, bright and pastel, Dean doesn't keep track.

He reads about it - about his _illness_. Hanahaki disease, a disease affecting less than 5% of the population and as per usual, Dean's just unlucky enough to find himself affected.

Because of course he is.

Obsessively, he searches for cures, potions, spells, charms, _anything_.

There are two known cures.

The first is surgery - ironically enough. 

It would remove the 'disease' like a tumor, and all of Dean's romantic feelings would disappear with it. That's it. Just like that, the affection and adoration Dean's come to feel for a certain trench coat wearing angel will vanish. And the feelings won't return.

Or -

Or there's death.

\------

Sam is the first to find out.

They're having a horror movie marathon - it's one of the few nights when the monsters have decided to lay low and the world isn't coming to an end - and it's the best Dean has felt in _weeks_. 

Sam's just stepped into the kitchen to get some more beer when Dean's throat begins to itch. He clears it a few times but he _feels_ something lodged in his windpipe. 

Glancing at the doorway to make sure Sammy's still in the kitchen, Dean coughs. Once, twice. Finally, it flies out of his throat, leaving him gasping for a second. 

It's yellow this time. 

It almost looks like a spot on sunshine against the wooden floor, and Dean's about to pick it up and shove it in his pocket when,

" _Dean_ ," Sam breathes and Dean lets the petal fall. It's no use anyway.

He swallows harshly, forcing his saliva past the lump in his throat.

"It's nothing, Sam."

He can tell that Sam is going to insist, to coax him into talking about it, when they hear the voice of the one and only Rowena Macleod. 

Sam stares at him for a second longer, puppy dog eyes searching his before he sighs and turns to greet their guest. Dean withholds his own sigh. He knows Rowena will know soon enough, and it'll all be hell from there.

\-------

It's a few weeks later when Dean comes up with his own plan. He's going to set Castiel up with someone - it'll be like cutting out his feelings, right? Just without the whole... cutting into him part. 

It's easy enough to set him up, even if Sam does keep shooting him pitying glances. Castiel, for the most part, is confused and adamant about not going. But Dean is nothing if not persistent - it just takes one "please" from him, and Cas acquiesces quietly. 

The night of the date, Dean can only bite his lips to keep from coughing because he knows if he does, he won't stop.

His teeth go through the flesh, the blood in his mouth is thick and coppery but he doesn't let go. He _can't_ let go.

He watches in silence as Cas goes about, putting the finishing touches on his outfit. He looks _good_ and Dean's heart positively _aches_ because he can't even tease him about his lopsided tie or wild sex hair. 

He watches as Castiel ascends the stairs, plastering on a fake smile and giving him a halfhearted thumbs up. As soon as the door closes, Dean goes to cough but surprises himself by retching.

It's not a few flower petals, no. He throws up a small mountain of petals, red against orange surrounded by yellows and whites, a few pinks and purples scattered throughout. It's a fucking mess and Dean knows he's going to have to clean it up, to hide the evidence of his feelings but he can't will himself to move.

He stares at the pile until his eyes start to burn and promptly buries his face into his hands, ignoring the wetness he feels escaping his eyes.

\-------

Seemingly overnight, he becomes Rowena's guinea pig.

She forces vial after vial into his hands, makes him perform rituals that leave him more exhausted than when they started. 

"Well," she says after the last ritual turns Dean's hair a neon pink, "I have a few more - "

"Rowena," he cuts in, slumping down on his bed. His throat _aches_ and he hates the knowing look in her eyes - it's worse than Sam's sad puppy eyes. 

"I - thank you," he stammers, clears his throat, "but no more witchy stuff. Please." 

"Oh... _Oh_ , I see." 

He stares down at his thighs, but he can imagine the look on her face. The sad smile, her lips pressed together, and the disappointed look in her eyes. She sits next to him on the bed, and instead of the advice he's expecting, she offers a little bottle.

"It won't cure you but, it will help with the-"

"The whole spitting up petals every five minutes?" He finishes with a depreciating smile. 

"Precisely, my dear." 

\---------

Dean stares at the outstretched hand in front of him. Anna is a pretty angel, and he sees the way she looks at Castiel. 

It shouldn't hurt so much seeing them together, and how well they get along, but it does. 

He knows he should do the polite thing and shake it but his arms feel like lead and there's something crawling up his throat, something painful and small, and _oh, he's going to be sick._

"Dean?" Cas questions, tilting his head in that adorable way of his and Dean can't tell if it makes the itch in his throat better or ten times worse. Still, he wills his arm up and goes through the entire ordeal with a strained smile that probably looks more like a grimace.

Cas turns to shoot him a questioning look before they leave and Dean forces himself to shrug before he turns and flees. He barely makes it to the kitchen before it comes, the coughing painful and long this time. He expects to see a few hundred petals but his heart sinks at the actual sight in front of him.

In the kitchen sink there lie a few white petals, all of them speckled with blood. 

He rests his head on the cool countertop and forces himself to inhale. Exhale. Inhale. He lets out a bitter laugh. He's running out of time and he's nowhere closer to an answer.

\------

When the flower petals become whole flowers (without the stem), Dean locks himself in his room and cries.

\-------

"Please, Dean," Charlie pleads, her eyes hard and unflinching, mouth set in a hard line "Be _reasonable_." 

"I am being reasonable," he argues back. It's a weak argument even to his own ears but he can't think of a life without some affection for Cas. He wouldn't be the same person, plain and simple. Hell, he's had a _thing_ for Cas for as long as he can remember. 

He'd rather cough up bloodied flower petals for the rest of his - admittedly short - life than be a shell of his former self. It would be like being _soulless_. 

Dean knows he's getting worse. He's lost weight, his aim is off on hunts, and the flowers are getting almost too painful. But still, he refuses. He can't just cut out his feelings for Castiel. 

There's too much at risk and for once in his life, Dean is being overly cautious.

"Dean," Sam tries, picking up his beer from the worn wooden table, "you need to just-"

"I said no -"

"We're just telling you to -"

"No, Sam, I told you -"

"For fuck's sake, Dean, you're the only family I have left," Sam shouts, but his voice is wobbly and his face is flushed.

The bottle he's just picked up trembles in his grasp and Dean hates himself a little more. 

\------------

"How long do you think it'll take?" Cas asks, standing a few feet from the bed as Dean continues packing. A nest of vamps. Dean doesn't want to go.

"A week? 'm not sure." 

"That's a long time for a nest." 

Dean bites his lip. He doesn't say that he's slowing them down, or that this is a pity hunt to take Dean out. 

"Yep." 

He doesn't have to turn to know that Cas's frowning, his lips in a thin white line. The thought that Cas cares both alleviates and worsens his state; his chest feels lighter at the notion but his throat continues to ache.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

They both fall silent again as Dean continues the methodical process of folding his clothes and putting them away.

"Do you want - oh," Cas stops himself. Dean can hear the distinctive ring tone of Cas's phone, can hear his footsteps getting fainter as he steps away to take the call. He knows what's coming as soon as Cas reappears.

"I've got to - Jack is -" he stumbles over his words and Dean waves him away with a halfhearted gesture.

"It's fine. I should sleep."

"I- yes. Okay. I'll see you in a week, then." Cas seems to hesitate before he gives a jerky nod and leaves.

Dean forces himself to clamp his mouth shut until the door to the bunker slams closed. He forces himself to wait a full minute after that. And then, he runs into the bathroom and vomits up a shitload of sad looking flowers.

He's left gasping after the last flower has made its appearance. There are tears in the corners of his eyes, and he wipes them away angrily as he flushes the toilet.

There's no use feeling pity for himself so he buries himself beneath the sheets, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He wills his mind blank, curses away the images of Cas's face, and tries to forget.

\--------

At first, he is convinced they are going to kill him. Between the whipping and the starvation, the sleep deprivation and humiliation, Dean's certain he was meant to die.

But they keep him alive for whatever reason. Just when he thinks he'll be able to succumb to eternal darkness, they come in bearing shitty medicine and food and they keep him _alive_. When the older vampire comes in - the one they always send with the supplies - Dean wants to sob.

Rationally, he knows that being alive, no matter how painfully, is better than being dead. But a part of him, the part that seems to grow with each passing second, desperately wishes they'd just put an end to this.

He wishes to take a breath without crying from the pain in his ribs. He wishes he could feel his wrists. He wishes he could eat something other than the shitty watery soup they force down his throat.

And when things get particularly painful, Dean wishes... he wishes he were _dead_.

It's all torture, plain and simple.

Not for information, or to turn him, no. For _fun_.

\--------

"Look at that," the man cackles, delivering a heavy blow to Dean's ribs. He clenches his teeth together to keep from crying out; they haven't brought any medicine in some time and his scars are scabbing over slowly - _too slowly_.

The healing flesh opens as Dean tries to squirm away from the steel tipped boot. His attempt to escape from pain only brings him more pain. Searing heat blooms across his back, something that makes the air feel too hot and too cold against his bloodied skin.

"Not even the person you love, wants you," the vampire sneers, the sound sharp and cruel. Dean forces himself to keep his mouth shut.

He found out early on that they like it more when Dean talks back. It earned him a split lip on the first day.

Besides, it's easier to focus on and deal with the physical pain. 

The physical pain is something he is accustomed to, something he can learn to live with -

Another kick lands on his stomach and Dean's mouth opens in shock as all the air whooshes out of him. His eyes burn as a few tears escape, but even through the blurry sight, he can make out the sight of whole flowers. All of them are coated in blood, though he's not sure if it's from his injuries or from the disease solely. 

\--------

Cas's hands shake as they wait, his previously perfect fingertips ruined and bitten to the quick. They're ugly and mangled and absolutely _nothing_ compared to what Dean looked like when he was rescued.

A doctor rushes out into the waiting room, his attire indicating that he rushed from the middle of surgery.

"Winchester?" 

Sam, Eileen, and Cas all jump up and crowd around him, all of them anxious for any news. 

"Mr. Winchester appears to be entering the last - _fatal_ \- stages of the Hanahaki disease. We can remove it now and -"

"No," Sam cuts in. His previously worried green eyes are shuttered now, hard and cold in the face of the doctor. "He doesn't want that."

The words seem to pain him, but no more than they pain Cas. The world seems to spin around him, the words refusing to sink in. Dean? Hanahaki?

 _Why_ hadn't he told Cas?

\--------

The four of them make their way to the bunker a few days later, worried and pained expressions written all over their faces. Dean pretends to be fine for their sake, assuring them that he feels fine, really.

It's not a complete lie. He feels a lot better than he did in that lair they kept him in, especially now that he can move without tearing his skin open.

It's not a complete lie, but it's not the truth either. As soon as they leave his room, Dean collapses onto the bed, letting the air in his lungs out in a whoosh.

There's a burning in his chest and throat now, and Dean recalls the somber look on his doctor's face when he told him he didn't have much time left. He doesn't feel sad, oddly enough.

He's not happy, either, but he's at peace. He loved the best person he possibly could and that would have to be enough for him. It was his _choice_. 

Voices waft in from outside and Dean is almost completely certain that they're talking about him, fussing and worrying and probably planning his funeral. He hates it. 

A part of him wishes those fucking vamps had ganked him - at least then he wouldn't have to put up with this. 

Realizing he can't reach his cassette player and headphones, Dean pops a painkiller strong enough to take down a bear and settles down for yet another dreamless night. 

\--------

It's late when he wakes up again.

He's about to get up and drag himself to the bathroom when he catches sight of Cas sitting at his desk. A question is on the tip of his tongue, maybe about the time, or how long he's been there, or what Cas is doing but it vanishes as soon as Cas starts speaking.

"I watched you die before, you know. I've seen you limp and defeated. Lifeless." The ex-angel takes a moment to gather his thoughts, head tilted and staring at Dean accusingly. 

Dean waits with baited breath, knowing that the words would probably hurt.

"But you always came back. You jumped up and you saved the world and you were _alive_ ," Cas stresses, turning to face Dean.

There's just enough moonlight to see how distraught is, how livid and fiery his icy blue eyes look. 

"You save people everyday, so why can't you save yourself for once?" 

Dean's breath freezes in his lungs, staying there, thick and heavy as he stares at the man he loves.

The air in the flat seems to have gone still, silence hanging heavily over them. Dean blinks away the tears blurring his vision, wishing he had the words to reassure Cas. What would he even say?

He's saved from coming up with anything by Cas, again.

"Please, just. Tell me who. Tell me and I'll do whatever I can, anything to keep-"

"You," Dean interrupts. He's dying. He knows it. He also knows that Cas doesn't return the sentiment so nothing he does, nothing he tries to do, can change the fact that in a few days - weeks, if he's lucky - he will be dead.

Cas pauses.

The next thing he knows, Cas is hovering over him, eyes so focused that Dean thinks he can see through his soul. 

"Cas?" 

Instead of a response, Cas leans down, their lips pressed together, frantic and wet with tears. Dean forces himself to sit up and pull away, and they both watch as blood coated petals fall to the floor.

"I - I don't understand."

"It doesn't work that way," Dean mutters bitterly. "I have to believe the feelings for this -"

"You idiot," Cas curses, sounding equal parts terrified and angry. "Of course I love you. Dean, I defied _heaven_ for _you_." 

And Dean wants to believe him, wants to cling on to the little flicker of hope that burns in his chest but he can't because this is _Castiel_ , angel of the _Lord_ , too good for Dean. No one could ever love someone as broken and tainted as him, much less an actual _angel_. 

"Look," he forces himself to say, "I appre-"

"No. No, listen to me, Dean Winchester." Dean clamps his lips shut, finding the grooves his teeth naturally fit into nowadays. He cups Dean's cheeks, tilting his head until green eyes meet blue. 

"I love you," he says and there must be something angelic behind his words because Dean swears something in him explodes, filling his head with clarity and serenity and a wall of affection. 

"Oh," he whispers, hands scrambling to pull Castiel closer. 

This time, it's Dean who initiates the kiss. It's soft and tentative.

An apology.

A promise.

An "I love you."

It doesn't last long - Dean still has lungfuls of flowers and petals in his chest - but it's enough. He believes Cas, believes the words he speaks and the sincerity he speaks them with.

\------------

"I can't tell you when I.. you know" Dean whispers later that night, "but I don't plan on stopping for a long, long time."

Cas shifts to look at him.

"Not even when I refuse to take your side when you argue with Sam?"

"Nope."

"What about when I say -" 

"No. Never, Cas," he cuts in, pressing a kiss to Cas' forehead. 

"Good," is all he says but Dean hears the 'me too' in his words. 

They sleep together that night, arm entertwined like branches of an overgrown rose bush. It's not perfect - they have a lot of shit to deal with - but it's a start, and Dean feels more alive than he has in months. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)
> 
> PS: December babies are the best, but May isn’t too bad, I guess. HB.


End file.
